


Protection

by SkinSlave



Category: Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bikers, Crying, Dubious Consent, F/M, Humiliation, I Tried, Mild Blood, My First Work in This Fandom, Oral Sex, Painful Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shame, Size Difference, Smoking, Threats, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21561256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: A young woman negotiates with the leader of the local biker gang to save her family.TW: very dubious consent, size difference, pain, bar sex, mean Jim.
Relationships: Jim Root/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 26





	Protection

The boys had always taken their share. It wasn't so bad when business was good. But since the office court closed, the margin closed too. Things were tighter and tighter. Daddy said not to worry, but she saw the books. If nothing changed, they'd lose everything.

She didn't look entirely out of place at the bar. Her leather jacket and black boots could pass at a glance. But as she looked at the other women there, she realized hers were form and not function. She'd fall apart on a motorcycle.

She wanted to fall apart right there. But she set her jaw and headed for the bar instead. An old man with an obvious glass eye asked for her order.

"I'm looking for Jim Root," she said firmly.

He laughed and poured a shot, then drank it. He wiped his chin with one hand and leaned forward. His prosthetic eye stayed on her face while the other slid slimily over her curves.

"He ain't taking applications, sweetheart. And we don't much care for hang-arounds. But, uh… if you're looking for a hog to ride…"

Her stomach hit her toes. She wanted to run. She still could. She hadn't gone too far yet. She could leave. But some stubborn part of her took over. She leaned on the bar and looked into his good eye.

"I'm not looking for a 2-stroke, _sweetheart_. I have business with Jim. Is he here or not?"

The bartender cleared his throat and walked away. Her heart pounded. It was the part of the movie where the bad guys drag the cop out back. Surely they knew she didn't belong. She just hoped she seemed confident enough to get an audience.

Eventually, a younger, less sleazy bartender approached. He handed her a beer bottle. She accepted it but didn't drink.

"Jim's not here," he sighed, "but Brick's willing to see you."

She knew Brick, or knew of him. He ran her district. It was more than she expected. She nodded and he came around the bar. They walked together to a side door. The man knocked three times, unlocked the door, and waved her inside.

The room was warm. Two large men were taking turns at a pool table. On the far wall, next to a mini bar, a third man waved her over. He seemed bored.

"Boys tell me we have business," he sneered, "but I know I never done business with that ass. What you want?"

"My father owns the Jones Market on DuPont. I've come to talk about your cut."

"Paying in advance?"

"Paying less."

Brick lifted one eyebrow. She could feel her face getting hot. She set the bottle down on the narrow counter so it wouldn't draw attention to her shaking hands.

"We can't pay what we've paid before and keep the lights on. If the business goes under, you get nothing. So let's discuss what we can do here."

He scoffed and rubbed at his stubble. She held very still, trying her best to call his bluff. He poured two shots and slid one toward her. She didn't bite.

"What's your name, kid?"

"Peace Jones."

"Peace?!" 

He laughed too hard. Anger bubbled into her throat. It tasted like bile. He reached for her face, as though his position in the gang gave him the right. She grabbed his hand.

"Peace... isn't... free."

His face twisted and he raised his other hand to strike her, gritting, "You little fucking-"

"Out."

Brick froze, then turned toward the voice. The two men who had been playing pool had stopped. One unlocked the door and stepped back into the bar. The other, a giant of a man, leaned his back against the wall. Brick turned toward Peace, then back to the man.

"She-"

"You fucking heard me."

Loyalty overrode his wounded pride. He jerked his hand away from her. The door slammed behind him and locked from the outside.

The man just stood there, looking at her. He seemed strangely clean for a biker, almost handsome. His leather vest looked new. His boots were shined. The beard that touched his chest was groomed. Her throat felt tight.

"Thank you," she muttered, just to break the silence.

"Don't."

"I… Don't what?"

He sighed and grabbed a bar stool from the far corner of the room. He lifted it with one hand, brought it closer to her, and sat down. Somehow he seemed even more imposing. He dug in his vest for a cigar and struck a match between his fingers.

"Don't thank the son of a bitch that's bankrupting your Daddy."

Jim. Peace fought to keep her breath even. She'd only seen pictures of him on the news, always with his hair falling over his angry white mask. He was no less intimidating without it. He blew a smoke ring toward her.

"You got balls. I dig that. But balls don't buy my blessing. So… what're you offering?"

The chair creaked as he sat back, one boot on a rung, the other to the side. He flipped his hair out of his face. Peace could feel a blush coming on and looked down to hide it. On the way, her gaze hung up on his jeans and the size of the bulge inside.

"I see you lookin', little sister," he chuckled. "Come here."

She took a few slow steps toward him. Her mind raced. A part of her hadn't considered the possibility of getting this far. Now she had about ten feet to decide how far she was willing to go.

Before she could close the gap, Jim was on his feet. He bit down on the cigar and wrapped both huge hands around her shoulders. He had to be at least 6'6". She suddenly felt very alone.

"You're not thinking 'bout running are you, little sister?" His hands tightened painfully. "Just 'cause I wouldn't let Brick bust that pretty face, don't mean I won't. Get me?"

Peace nodded stiffly. She let his hands wander over her 5' frame. They cupped her tits and kneaded her ass. He seemed to approve, making low noises in the cloud of smoke far above her. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip.

"Hey!" He landed a sharp smack to her cheek, jolting her back into the moment. "You stay here or you get out."

"Yeah," she breathed, startled by the sting. "Yeah…"

She brought her hands up to Jim's chest. The touch was an anchor. She let him lift her chin. His eyes were intense. He was handsome for a violent, exploitative prick. Her fingertips skipped down the front of his shirt, over his belt buckle.

_Oh._

The denim of his jeans was stretched tight. What was underneath felt like a soda can. Peace's mouth dropped open in surprise. He smiled, teeth and cigar and smug satisfaction. One of his massive hands grabbed her wrist. The other flipped the tail of his belt out and pulled at the buckle.

Once Jim had opened his pants, he stuffed her hand inside. His cock throbbed in his boxers. She all but forgot why she was there as she felt its warmth. Carefully, she worked it out. She couldn't close her hand around it.

"I never get tired of that," he laughed.

"What?"

"That fucking look on your face. Don't think you can take it, not gonna leave until you try." He stretched to his full height and focused on his cigar. "How's it taste?"

It was salt and heat, leather and asphalt. Peace ran her tongue along its ridges and mouthed at the head. She opened as wide as she could, but still couldn't slide it between her teeth. She used both hands to work his length instead. She looked up. Jim was busy smoking as though he barely noticed her. Arrogant asshole.

"I know it don't fit, little sister," he sighed. "But I know someplace it will."

A surge of fear stopped her. He took advantage of the shock and pulled her to her feet. She instinctively fought against his hands as they pulled roughly at her clothes. Her jacket and shirt fell to the floor. 

Suddenly her wrists hurt. It took a moment to realize he was holding them tightly in one hand while he shucked her jeans down over her thighs.

"Teasing ain't gonna leave you with rent money."

Peace swallowed hard. He was right. She came to make a deal. This was it.

"Let me." 

Her voice trembled. Jim stood up and let her wrists go. She rubbed them a moment, then bent to take her boots off. He just watched, fingering his damned cigar. He didn't say to stop, so she just kept going until there was nothing left.

"Show me," he said, ashing onto the floor.

Peace gave a slow, awkward spin. She fought the urge to cover herself. His serious gaze made her feel more naked than she ever had. When she faced him again, he made a turning motion with his hand. Humiliated, she made another circle.

"You a virgin?"

Burning red, she looked him in the face. She tried to muster some of the bravado that had gotten her into the back room in the first place. She cocked one hip out in an effort to look sexy.

"Would it matter if I was?"

Jim balanced his cigar on the edge of the stool and let it burn. He stepped toward her. His cold smirk sent a tingle down her spine.

"Not even a little bit."

He picked her up by the waist and sat her on the edge of the pool table. For a moment, they were face to face. His hands lingered, large and strong. His lips were full. If she didn't know who he was, what he'd done, she might've wanted to kiss him.

The strange attraction melted when Jim shoved her back. She narrowly missed the remaining billiard balls but hit the slate hard. She grabbed at her head, whimpering in pain. Her voice caught as she felt his beard on her stomach. 

"Hold still, little sister," he rumbled. "I'm gonna smell you in my beard for a week."

His tongue was perfect. Somehow, through the headache and the shame, it felt amazing. There was nothing tender in it, though. It was for lubrication, not pleasure. Each time he lapped at her clit, he chuckled at the way she moaned and squirmed. He was just pressing buttons on his toy. She hated how wet she was.

When he was done, he stood and slapped her thigh. Peace sat up. She could see his fist working his cock. It was terrifying. She was sure it wouldn't fit. But he was right. She wanted to try.

"Roll over," he snapped. "Like you better from behind."

Shaking, she complied. He moved her roughly, pulling her ass over the edge of the table. The bumper dug into her shins. He pressed on her back until she was nearly flat, folded and exposed, her cheek against the table.

The head of Jim's cock worked its way between her lips like a fist. She gasped. It pressed, insisting on entry.

"Relax, little sister," he said softly. "You bleed on my table and I'll take the cost outta your hide."

The first inch forced its way in. Peace let out a sob. She willed herself to breathe, to push back. Another inch spread her open. It was too big to feel good despite how slick she was.

Jim spat on his cock, gripped her hair and settled into a slow ride. Her pussy was unbelievably full. Its walls clung to him as he sank deeper with each painful thrust. Tears beaded on her lashes.

"Fuck. Tight." His voice came from deep in his chest. "Daddy's girl, come to save the family. What would Daddy think of you now?"

The tears overflowed. They traced her cheeks and landed on the felt. Everything hurt, from her legs to her scalp, but her pride most of all. She wasn't enjoying him, but she didn't want him to stop. What did that say about her?

Sharp, short fingernails dug into her hip. Jim was getting close. He wasn't even all the way in. Peace tried to be grateful that he was going to finish before he tore her in half. He jerked on her hair, brought her ear to his mouth.

"You know how many bitches I've fucked, little sister? You mean nothing to me. Just a cunt. Just a sleeve for my cum. Now you can thank me."

He slammed deep, pushing all the air from her lungs. She made a squeaking sound that wasn't enough. He bit her ear, drawing blood, and repeated the order.

"Th-a-nk… tha-nk you."

He licked her cheek, catching her tears, and released. His cock throbbed inside of her for what seemed like hours. Cum seeped between them and dripped onto the wood floor. He finally pulled out and wiped his softening cock on her ass.

She closed her eyes and slumped forward. She could hear him zipping up, relighting his cigar, sitting back down on the stool. The cap of a beer bottle hit the far wall.

"Get up."

Carefully, Peace slid her aching body to the floor. She remembered his threat and tried not to wet the table in the process. Her legs were numb. She gathered a bit of cum from her bruised thighs. It was tinted pink.

"Get the fuck up."

His impatient tone brought the fear back. She struggled to her feet and looked for a towel, a napkin, anything to clean up the evidence of her deal with the devil. There was nothing.

"Get dressed."

Her tears started fresh as she obeyed. There was no way to keep his bloody cum from soaking through her jeans. He was sending her back as she was: used, defiled, marked. Since her shirt was black, she used it to wipe her face.

"Out."

"The money… I..."

Jim shrugged and took a pull from his beer.

"It'll be half this week."

"This week? But what about next week?"

"Next week," he growled, standing, "is another negotiation… now that you know what it costs."

He grabbed her arm too tightly and pulled her to the door. He knocked three times and a key clicked in the lock from the other side. The door swung open. The young bartender held it. Jim pulled her close and whispered.

"See you next week, little sister."

He shoved her back into the bar. No one turned, but she could feel their contempt. They'd heard her moaning and crying. They knew what she'd done, what she was.

Waiting outside for her Uber, Peace could feel his moisture leaking out of her. He was disgusting, power-drunk, vile. But in some shameful part of her, she knew she'd be back in a week… and not for the money.


End file.
